


Growing Up in Camden

by J_L_Hynde



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: A prequel to a fic I haven't written yet, Alfie Solomons backstory, Childhood Memories, Drabbles, Family Dynamics, Gen, Growing up in Camden Town, Jewish family, Just something I decided to write just cause, No Incest, One Shot Collection, Siblings, accepting prompts, before WWI
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:29:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_L_Hynde/pseuds/J_L_Hynde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is merely a collection of short stories following Alfie Solomons and his family before the war, before he was a big time gangster. It's a possible companion piece to a fic I've started writing and will probably get around to posting at some point, once I don't have so much on my plate. For now I've decided to keep it to these little snippets until then and kinda get a feel for the characters. Currently accepting prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Up in Camden

**Author's Note:**

> Summary:  
> Growing up in Camden Town, it had become a tradition to jump from the bridge on Oval Rd into the water below. Young boys, ages seven to eleven, saw this a rite of passage more so than their Bar Mitzvahs. Alfie did it and now it’s his younger brother’s turn.

It was a cool spring morning in Camden that day. The sky, cloudy as was usual for London weather, brought with it a chance of a light drizzle later. Still that didn’t stop the children running down the street.

Really only two of them could’ve been considered children, the other, an older lad standing at a height of 5’9 and 11 stones, could be considered more a man than a child. And he was. After all, he had a job providing for his family like the man should and with no father to look out for his mother and two younger siblings he was man of the house. Alfie prided himself on his ability to take care of his family.

When the father, Mr. Solomons, died it had left a heavy burden on Mrs. Solomons, who now had to raise three children and find a way to put food on the table. Their mother was a tough one. Not only did she find a way to feed and clothe her little dykes, but she did this without compromising her ideals. Many women who’ve lost their husbands had to turn to less savory jobs of barmaids and prostitution; Mrs. Solomons was a fairly skilled seamstress with a knack for business and opened a shop out of their home. Only Alfie knew how truly hard she worked, up before dawn and long into the night after they were all asleep, her fingers would be stiff and creaky and all for three quid, ten bob, and twenty pence a week.

Still, she would always greet them with a smile and a warm cup of porridge and a piece of challah. She fashioned clothes for them out of the extra scraps of fabric, though mostly Alfie’s old clothes were passed down to younger Harry and then onto little Chana. It was too much hassle to have the only girl wear dresses every day, especially when she played out in the streets and came home covered in soot and mud by noon. Dresses were only for Sabbath and it was the only time that Chana, through her whining about not liking them, had to wear one.

Today wasn’t Sabbath, though, so Chana was free to run around and get as muddy as she pleased.  

She was a tiny sliver of a thing –all bony knees and elbows –the hand-me-down clothes swallowing her up far more than they ever did her brothers. Her hair, a wiry mess of untamable curls, made her look more like a young boy than a girl. And with the clothes she was often mistaken as such. Chana was small for her age of six, yet she didn’t let her short legs hamper her ability to keep up with her older brothers.

She was always trying to keep up, you see, because she absolutely refused not go anywhere where they were going. This got annoying at times for her brothers; especially Alfie. But all she had to do was flash that cheeky little grin of hers and the older boys couldn’t find it in themselves to be angry.  So when their little sister asked to tag-along on the boys’ outing, of course they agreed. Beside, Alfie knew that their mum could focus more on her work if they took her with them.

It had become tradition in Camden Town, for the Jewish boys that is, to jump from the bridge on Oval Rd. into the water below. Young boys, ages seven to eleven, saw this as a rite of passage; more so than their Bar Mitzahs. Alfie first jumped when he was nine (the youngest was Isaiah Goldsmith at seven and a half) almost seven years ago now. Harry, however, had yet to do it. He was going to be twelve, tomorrow.  According to Jewish tradition twelve was when boys were considered men; Alfie thought that jumping into the canal would be a great send off.

However, Harry was more or less anxious about the whole thing. The lad wasn’t like his older brother. He wasn’t the biggest strongest kid on the block, he didn’t exude confidence like him or make the bullies, Jacob Bauer and Aaron Nash, flinch just by looking at him. He was fairly scrawny for his age, like his sister, and couldn’t have weighed more than five stones dripping wet. Also, not that he’d ever admit it aloud, he was afraid of heights.

Jumping from the bridge was something he hoped he’d never have to do. He’d watch the other boys in the neighborhood jump –even have some try to pressure him at times –but he always managed to weasel his way out claiming that his mum wanted him back home or he had to go find his little sis. He’d thought he might’ve actually gotten away with it with his birthday tomorrow; no one ever jumped past eleven.

But when Alfie brought it up he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t let his brother think he was a coward.

The three Solomons kids arrived at the bridge a bit before ten. Chana ran up to the railing standing on her tiptoes to peer over the edge. It was only about a nine-foot drop into the water; nothing too terribly high. Harry swallowed thickly fisting his hands in his pockets. Nine feet was still too high for him.

“Chana get away from the edge,” Alfie warned sharply. Harry shook his head at the girl, somehow she had managed to climb up the railing and was now sprawled over it; her head hanging down over the edge.

Then she giggled stretching her arms out. “Look Harry, ‘m a birdie!” She cried flapping her arms for emphasis.

Alfie walked over and picked the small girl up by the waist. “Chana, what would mum say if she saw you do that? She’d box me ears that’s for sure,” he said setting her down. “If ya’ can’t behave yer gonna have ta go home.”

She puffed her cheeks out stubbornly. “But Alfie…” She whined.

“Nun-uh,” he rebuked, “none of that whining either. I don’t wanna hear et.”

Harry wondered why he couldn’t be like his little sis. She was never afraid of anything. It was almost comical at times –like how last week she kicked Aaron Nash in the shin because he got mud on her new dress or that time her and Ollie Tilman got into a row outside the school. She didn’t care that both boys were older, bigger, and stronger than she was. It didn’t matter that she was girl. If someone crossed her or her family, she would make sure they paid.

“Ya’ alright, Harry?”

The lad looked up attempting to look like he wasn’t about to be sick. “Ye-yeah. Suppose, I should take me shoes off?” He answered casting at look down at the scuffed up boots he wore. His mum would blow a fuse if he came home with his boots all muddy and tracked mud all over her clean floors. He remembers the last time Aflie did it –wasn’t able to sit down for a week –if at all possible he was going to avoid that.

Harry bent down and started undoing his laces. It was easy to tell that the boy was nervous because his hands shook with each move. “Harry?” Alfie frowned standing over his brother’s shoulder. “Ya’ don’t have to do this if you don’t want ta. I’m not gonna force ya.”

“I know. I want to do this,” he lied. Pulling off his boots and setting them aside, he gave his brother a shaky smile. Then he climbed on top of the railing and, with a silent prayer to God, took that leap off the bridge.

Years later, Harry would say that jumping from the bridge wasn’t really a big deal. The fall only lasted a second. He didn’t feel any different when he emerged from the water –still thought it was a bunch of horseshit that this act was supposed to make him a man. But he remembers brushing his brown, matted hair from his eyes and looking up to see Alfie’s proud smile and Chana’s cheeky grin as she waved at him. All while he was thinking: ‘ _That was it?’_

It was only during the war that he realized that the act itself didn’t make him a man. It was the lesson he learned, the lesson he never forgot. His rite of passage was facing his fear and realizing that things are never quite as bad as we think.


End file.
